


Monsters and Victims

by TeaWithMeAtThree



Category: Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cannibalism, Family, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Abigail, M/M, Murder Family, POV Harry Potter, Pre-Hogwarts, Violence, Young Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaWithMeAtThree/pseuds/TeaWithMeAtThree
Summary: Hannibal finds a small boy - Harry Potter - hiding in a cupboard with blood on his hands, hiding from the bodies sprawled in the living room. He takes him home to his husband Will and their pseudo-daughter Abigail... But there may be too many murderers in one house.





	1. Alone With The Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All rights to NBC for their brilliant production of Hannibal, Thomas Harris for his creation of the character, and J.K. Rowling for our little Harry Potter.

Even in the cupboard, which possessed an absence of any light, I could see the blood on my hands. I could see it with clarity. Visible when every atom of light was pulled away and shut outside the door. It was like a vacuum sucking everything away just leaving me alone with guilt covering my hands. The crimson colour was even there when I closed my eyes. It traced along the cracks in my hands, and in-between left a rotting pink colour. Rivers of blood trickling along the crevices in my skin. It was on me but it was also on my bed, on the faded covers that once belonged to Dudley. On the bonnet of a train, smudged across the characters face creating a distorted image. Everywhere I looked there was blood.

Everything was tainted – like Uncle Vernon used to say, but now it was true. 'Don't play with Dudley's toy Harry; it's not yours, you'll get it dirty.' 'You've tainted it, by God, you've ruined the whole thing." I washed extra-long that night, hoping to get rid of all the germs that belonged to me. Maybe then he'd like me. Looking back, I know how naive that was. He was wrong - I hadn't done anything to the toy. Dudley does more bad when he throws it at me or tries to snap it. All I did was touch it.

My present surroundings were tainted though... Just not by me again. Truly, they were tainted by him. Vernon's blood, Aunt Petunia's blood.

Everything was twisting and warping in my mind; rivers were running around me and it felt like the collapse of a large iceberg was going on inside me, crashing and tumbling down.

"Harry." I turned to see a man stood at the entrance to my cupboard. I had been so lost in my thoughts I had not heard him arrive. He looked sharply at me, as if assessing before stating-

"Tell me what happened."

"I... I didn't mean for this to," I stumbled, "to happen. They got hurt. One moment I was here and next I was in the living room and they were both hurt. I know it was me. It has to be." My nervous account meant I had now rubbed blood into hair from anxiously scratching my scalp.

"It has to be?"

"It always is." He watches me, knowing I have more to say. "Bad things happen to people I'm with. There's something wrong with me. I really am a freak."

"You're not a freak," he interrupted.

"I'm not?" I asked slowly.

"You were just scared. Scared and alone."

"I'm with you." I replied softly, rubbing my hands on my jeans, begging the colour to go away. "Who are you?" I asked.

"Hannibal." he said firmly, holding out a gloved hand to me. I took it and he led me to the kitchen where he helped me onto the counter so I could wash my hands. Meanwhile he found a washcloth to carefully wipe the blood from around my mouth. I watched him doing so and found his stoic expression confusing.

"Are you scared of me?" I inquired.

"Should I be?" he responded monotonously, altering the otherwise bemused question so it conveyed no certain emotion. I didn't answer him then, for I knew I did not need to. It was evident why he should fear me but clearly he did not. In fact, it was quite the other way round. I did not know why this man was here or if he had come to take me away yet I was telling him what happened and letting him help me.

"Now, let's get you some clean clothes, then you're coming with me."

"I'm in trouble. This is bad." I admitted, watching the orange and brown tiles beneath my feet.

"No – not at all. In fact, I am proud of you. You were so brave – to stand up to your parents."

"They're not my parents," I told him, scratching my cheek. "They're my Aunt and Uncle. My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby."

"Ah," he murmured, before removing his gloves and stretching a new, dry pair on.

"I killed them." I whispered, watching him.

"Yes. I know."

"Not my parents! My Aunt, and Uncle." He nodded wisely.

"So why aren't you arresting me?" I asked bluntly.

"I'm not from the police." he smiled.

"Then... Where are you from?"

"I'm from a long way from here. I met your Uncle on a business trip once, when I was in the area, and was just coming to pay him another visit."

"Oh.." I whispered, gnawing at my cheek. "I'm so sorry," I began, starting to cry, "I've killed your friend."

"You are jumping to conclusions," he told me, "I was not friends with your Uncle. Honestly, he was quite rude to me."

"I- I didn't just kill them," I stumbled tearfully. "I don't remember what happened... But what I do know is that I found myself sat by the bodies of my aunt and uncle and chewing on something. Chewing!" I nearly shouted this. It was hammering inside me besides the iceberg and the rivers. I looked to Hannibal, expecting him to look horrified. Instead he wore an attentive expression and his eyes seemed dark, pupils wide and black. I whimpered, screwing my face in guilt and feeling utterly disgusting.

"I'm a monster, aren't I…" I whispered, curling my arms into myself. He took my face in his hands and held my attention, stroking the back of my neck in a comforting manner. Then he spoke-

"No. I know what monsters are. You're a victim." He offered an arm to me to help me down and I clung to him, glad to feel someone alive and breathing and warm.

"Do you have something you can change into?" I quickly pushed on a new t-shirt, glad to be rid of the sticky top that had been clinging to my stomach.

"Anything you want to bring?" he asked, looking around my cupboard.

"Am I leaving?" I inquired wobbly.

"You're coming to stay with me for a while, at my house." he replied.

"Umm… just these." I murmured, grabbing the toy knights from my shelf. As I walked out I nearly slipped on a pair of woollen socks on the floor. I picked them up and hugged them to me before looking to the man, ready to leave. He pulled a funny face then offered his hand to me, and we left together. I rubbed my running nose with the socks but he frowned at this so I stopped. With that, we stepped out of Privet Drive.

"Goodbye." I whispered to the house before turning, trying to focus on the shadows of the street and not think about the people in the living room, or about my red, deep red hands. We climbed into a silver car and I couldn't help but stop to feel the smooth, cold leather beneath me. It was like the cooling feeling of placing ice on a hurt, so I held my hands to it, hoping it would have a similar effect.

"Seatbelt on, Harry."

"Mm? Oh, yeah." I stretched up to reach the buckle and pulled it across me; The belt was harsh and pushed a straight line into my neck. As the car pulled away, I was shocked at how smooth it felt – nothing like a rickety journey in the Dursley's car.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying (but failing) to really see over the bonnet of the car.

"My house. It is a long journey – try and get some rest." I lay against the cold seat and, with everything that had happened, found I was suddenly exhausted.

Hannibal wasn't joking when he said he lived far away for when I woke up again it was bright with morning sunlight… and we were still in the car.

"Are we nearly there yet?" My voice was crackly with sleep and I coughed it clear a bit.

"Not far now," he encouraged, keeping his eyes on the road and allowing a little peak to me to see I was awake. I resorted to watching him drive. It was certain he knew I was staring but he didn't scold me so I remained doing so. His silver hair fell in a few silky strands across the side of his face and he looked like he had been awake for a very long time. In his face were strong cheekbones and I felt my cheeks, hoping to find a similarity in my appearances but I could not. It seemed cheekbones were something I must add to my wish list – I was sure it was something Dudley would be jealous of. If I ever see Dudley again. He was staying at a friend's house the night before… Normally I would say "poor friend, stuck with him for night," but after what has happened I know I should be saying "very lucky Dudley. Safe and sound."

"Ah," I cried, clawing at my face, scratching down and leaving little red lines.

"Harry." Hannibal raised his voice, and I knew he wanted me to stop, so instead I curled them into fists and pushed them into my chest. I was crying heavily, heaving with it, and my mouth and nose were dripping. It felt like every part of me was in pain, and my heart felt heavy and hard like iron within me. My whimpers turned to cries turned to screams.

"Harry, Harry look at me." Hannibal tried but I was so deep in my thoughts that I barely heard him. It was only a few moments later when I felt someone holding me that I realised he was there.

"It's alright, it'll be okay," he told me certainly.

"No it won't." I cried, my throat dry and my collar soaked from crying.

"Shhh…" is what I hear then, again and again until it is the only thing I could hear. That and the sound of cars on the road beside us: An urban lullaby. "Don't worry Harry, I will protect you. You are safe now."

"Thank you," I told him, hugging tightly before letting him walk round to his side of the car and drive again.


	2. Cooked Breakfast

The world looks softer through tearful eyes. Watching trees flash by had a numbing effect on me, and I felt the monotony of the task lulling me away from the turbulence inside my head. It was midday when we reached Hannibal's house. We pulled up beside a tall, modern building. It was twice the size of any house I had seen before.

"You live here?" I asked in wonder. "It's like a castle!" Hannibal smiled and stepped out the car. Ensuring the toys and socks were safely nestled in my arms, I followed him into the house.

"Do they fit you?" he asked, gesturing to the socks.

"They were Dudley's so they're far too big," I answered as I pulled off my trainers, "but when it was really cold, they wouldn't give me an extra blanket or hot drink, so I went to special emergency measures. I would wear as many socks as I could to keep my feet warm - these were my favourite though. They'd go right on top of everything, the biggest pair!" My anecdote received an ambiguous smile from Hannibal. As I looked around the entranceway Hannibal sniffed at the air, pausing with his eyes closed to smell it. I copied him and found I could smell expensive home fragrance and... Eggs.

"Hannibal?" called a voice.

"Hullo William," he returned, striding into what I saw to be the kitchen.

"It seems we have a guest," the man said with furrowed eyebrows.

"Ah yes," replied Hannibal, "Harry, this is Will. Will; Harry." Will scrunched his face and stared at Hannibal for a moment before telling him-

"It seems we're going to need two more plates out the cupboard then." The men set about preparing the breakfast, with Hannibal getting some meat out the fridge to go with the eggs.

"They're getting better," he said and Will chuckled, nudging the rubbery egg with a fork.

"I trust you want to cook some more eggs then?" asked Will and Hannibal replied with an appreciative, knowing smile, so Will served all his egg onto one plate with a piece of toast he'd prepared.

"Abigail!" Hannibal called before telling Will, "she prefers your cooking anyway." Will tutted and pressed a chaste kiss to Hannibal's cheek as he walked to the table with a plate.

"Who's Abigail?" I asked.

"Who are you?" responded a girl from the doorway on the other side of the room. I looked to Hannibal but he and Will were both looking at me so I spoke.

"I'm Harry." The girl - Abigail - looked down at my faded and stretched assortment of clothing.

"What are you wearing?" she asked incredulously. Will scratched his head and told her they would have to buy some new clothes for me today.

"Are you sure?" I asked quietly, looking to Will cautiously. "Just... I've never got NEW clothes before. They cost too much and I'm small so I can just wear ones you grow out of."

"Our clothes would be far too big for you," reasoned Will sternly. I looked down to the trousers I was wearing. They were jeans that had once belonged to Dudley, and were kept up by a tight belt as they were multiple sizes too big for me. Likewise my baggy top formed looping arms and my small hands barely peeked out the end. I looked up and found Will and Hannibal were now muttering to each other and Abigail was sat at the table eating her eggs. At this my stomach rumbled.

"You must be hungry!" declared Hannibal, "please, sit down at the table - I shall bring you some breakfast." I shuffled over and sat diagonally from Abigail. I was not accustomed to teenage girls. Hannibal and Will joined us at the table with three plates of elegantly arranged eggs and...

"Bacon." Will hummed, savouring the flavour. Abigail watched me as I ate my first piece of bacon, and the look on her face was one I simply could not understand.

"How old are you?" she asked, returning to her own plate.

"Ten. I'm in year 6." I answered.

"Very small for ten, aren't you?" commented Will.

"I'm not the smallest in my class though."

"I'm sure not," he reassured.

"Did your parents not feed you much?" asked Abigail with a sardonic smile.

"My parents died in a car crash so I don't remember what I ate there. But at the Dursley's, if I was good, I ate what they had. You know; chips, burgers, takeout - normal stuff."

"If you were... good." she repeated with concern (her smile had dropped quickly whilst I'd been speaking.) I nodded and set about finishing the delicious breakfast.

"This is better than anything I've ever had though - thank you!" Hannibal accepted my gratitude courteously and Will with a grimacing nod-smile.

"Coffee?" Hannibal asked Will, then walking back to the kitchen to prepare them coffee, tea for Abigail and hot chocolate for me.

"Are you and Hannibal married?" I questioned.

"We would like to be," answered Will.

"I'd be the bridesmaid - if you get married," commented Abigail, looking to Will proudly.

"Of course," he smiled, "though don't get your hopes set on a wedding. I expect it'll be yours before ours!"

"So... You're not married?" I checked.

"No, no we're not married, nor engaged even."

"But you had a daughter. How did you make a baby if you're not married, and if you're both men?" Will chuckled and Abigail looked disgusted.

"Oh please," she groaned, just making Will laugh more. "They didn't make me, they adopted me."

"Like the Dursleys took me in?"

"I guess..." she replied.

"So, are you adopting me now too?" I asked slowly.

"No-"

"-I don't know." Will and Abigail interrupted each other, and I looked between the two of them.

"You can't," Abigail told him firmly.

"For now, he needs somewhere. We can do that for him, Abigail, I know we can."

"Why? Why not send him back to the... Dursleys?"

"He cannot return there; your father informs me that is a certainty. So, whilst we work out what to do, he can stay with us."

"But... What about me?" she scowled, her eyes glistening harshly.

"Abigail, Harry has been through a traumatic event - you can help him. You are important to me Abigail, and I trust you can see how important this will be to me and Hannibal." Abigail turned to look at me, and I shifted my attention to the wooden table. The cracks in the wooden table - the cracks in my hands - the blood in the cracks-

"Abigail!" Will cried but she ignored him as she stormed from the room. He grunted into his palms and pulled them down fast, slapping the table. Hannibal arrived to the sound and immediately placed his mugs down to come round to Will.

"Min kæreste, what is wrong?" he asked as he held Will's shoulders, pressing his thumbs to Will's back.

"Abigail," he muttered, shaking his hand in the air then clasping it to Hannibal's arm above him, and pulling Hannibal down into an awkward embrace.

"William," he spoke, disentangling himself so he could crouch beside him, hand on Will's thigh. "You cannot blame yourself. She will listen - trust me, she will. Right now it is a shock, but whatever she is feeling now about it won't last. Feelings change, and I believe we can ascertain hers will too."

"You are right," tuttered Will. He reached a hardened hand to Hannibal's cheek, resting it affectionately.

"I often am," boasted Hannibal. Will raised his eyebrows and allowed a small smirk, soon hidden as Hannibal pressed his lips softly to Will's, lingering in a reconciling kiss. Aware of their audience, the couple stopped and turned soon to me.

"Can I have my hot chocolate?" I asked.

"Of course!" declared Hannibal, rising to reach and pass me a warm mug of hot chocolate, cream, marshmallows and cinnamon. Will held to his coffee but glanced to Hannibal.

"No hidden ingredients?" he questioned, sticking his tongue to his cheek.

"Why ever would you think that?" teased Hannibal.

They were a confusing couple indeed.


	3. Heard and Hidden

The radio was on whilst I played with my toy soldiers on the living room rug.

'Early this morning, police found the bodies of a married couple in Little Whinging. Investigations are underway, and police are asking anyone with information to come forward and call this number-' Here the radio ended because I had pulled it by a cable and it fell to the ground where I could turn it off. I didn't think anything had broken but the noise did bring Will hurrying into the room.

"Everything alright Harry?" he asked, hands dripping with bubbly water which he was wiping on a tea towel.

"Ah." he muttered once he's spotted the radio on the floor. I watched him with wide eyes and could feel my heart beating faster and faster. As he took a step forwards I took one back too.

"Harry-"

"I didn't mean to, I'm sorry: please don't..." I ran. Out of the room and into the hallway. "I broke it, I'm in trouble, they're going to kick me out, they're going to take me to the police," I thought to myself. I tried a door but it was locked, and Will would soon catch up with me, so I went to the stairs. Up and up and up, step step step, not looking back. I needed to find somewhere to hide. I ran past a bedroom and a bathroom and found myself at a study. I hurried inside. "Look, look, look," I told myself, frantically trying to find somewhere to go. There was a blazer on the office chair which I took and used to cover myself as I hid under the desk.

One. Two. Three. Steps coming up the stairs. Four, five, six, seven.

"Harry?" called Will. "Harry!"

One breath, two breaths I counted. Then someone stepped through the door and I stopped my breaths altogether.

"Harry, are you - there." He'd found me.

"I've been very bad. I'm always bad," I whispered, "There's something wrong with me."

"Harry, what have you done?"

"I hurt them, I hurt Vernon and Petunia, and now the police are going to get me." A hand lifted up the corner of the blazer and I saw Will crouched on the floor, looking to me.

"Your Aunt and Uncle?" he checked. I nodded. "Harry, we won't let the police find you. We're going to protect you."

"But I killed them," I stumbled, tears poking at my eyes. "I'm a murderer."

"You're not alone in that," mumbled Will.

"...What do you mean?" He wasn't making any sense. I was alone - I always have been. In this instance I am alone too.

"There are many murderers in this world... But that doesn't mean they're bad people. You've read the bible?"

"A bit, at school." I answered, still trying to catch onto the point in what he was saying.

"Well then, think of Noah. God sent a flood killing millions of people - men, women, children. God is a murderer... And yet he is worshiped as a pure, omnibenevolent being. God is, as they say, 'good'."

"But I'm not God," I argued. "I'm just Harry. That means I can't get away with things; not like God can."

"Umm, well," Will began, "there are others. See, I worked for the FBI-"

"-You're going to arrest me!" I cried, skirting away from him and letting he blazer fall over my face again.

"No - Harry, har-" Will struggled, as he reached for me, removed the blazer hiding me, and held me tightly in place. "Harry. Look at me." I edged my eyes open. "I will never tell the police, Harry, I promise you."

"Pinky promise?" I whispered. He gave an agreeing, side-ways nod of his head.

"Harry, you're not alone. You're staying with us now, and we know how you feel."

"Have you... Killed someone?" I asked, piecing together the implications in his words.

"Yes, I have." He flinched.

"You-"

"My point, is," he regained, "that killing someone, though it may feel bad, does not make you a bad person."

"So... I'm not in trouble."

"You're not in trouble Harry. We want to help you, help you understand what has happened. We want to look after you."

"Look after me like how you look after Abigail?"

"Yeah."

"Then does that mean you're my dad now?"

"If you would like that."

"Maybe. I don't know." I answered. Will smiled, and loosened his grip on me to rub my arms comfortingly. I shuffled out to him and stumbled to stand up, pulling him with me. He placed a hand on my upper back to guide me out the room, but instead I turned to him and hugged him, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my ear to his chest. After a moment, he returned the hug too.

"Thank you." I whispered.

"That's ok-"

"I hate you!" Yelled a voice from the door. I turned to see Abigail watching us. "You- you!" she exclaimed, though I couldn't tell if she was talking to me or Will.

"Abigail!" called Will, immediately leaving me and running to her bedroom, but he was met with a door slammed in front of him and forced shut by the girl on the other side. I watched him stood at her door, trying to talk her into letting him into the room.

"You said I was important." I heard her cry.

"You are Abigail-"

"Then what about Harry. How can you say that- then-" The voices faded out as I hurried downstairs, away from the argument. I didn't want to be there if Abigail opened the door again.


	4. Danish Words of Love

Eventually Abigail talked to Will - she wanted to; I could see that all along. I recognised how she felt... Wanting to be loved. It's an emotion I want to experience, like everyone else, but can't seem to manage to.

Dudley knew love. He knew it when his parents would buy him extra presents, just to make him happy, or when they would take him on trips to the zoo or buy him extravagant birthday cakes. When they would replace his battered toothbrush. When they read him bedtime stories and kissed him goodnight. I watched this love and never felt it. Likewise, when it's late and they don't realise I'm there, I have seen Hannibal and Will express affection. Cuddled together reading a newspaper, standing extra close when they dry the dishes, laughing as they drink wine and talk, or kissing. Standing by the window and sharing a moment, bodies embracing and ignorant of anything but each other. I see them kiss and know that, although I can physically connect with people, I may never be able to truly understand what it is to feel attached to another person.

Maybe that's why, once two weeks had passed, I already felt no guilt over what I had done. I knew it was wrong, and I knew I had been scared... But I no longer felt like a bad person. When Will told me killing someone doesn't define you, and when Hannibal told me to look at what I had done and see the courage and bravery in it, not the blood or loss, I believed them. If Little Whinging appeared on television I would no longer run from the room or turn it off. Actually seeing the investigation helped me feel safe. It was comforting to hear them finding suspects when none were me. I was not afraid that they would find me. Hannibal and Will were keeping me safe.

They would remind me this when we spent time together. Whilst Will was showing me how to tie the string of a lure, or as Hannibal taught me how to add shadows to a drawing. They introduced me to interests beyond my toy soldiers. In fact, my favourite thing to do became spending time with them. When Hannibal's patients were gone and he was sat at his desk writing, I would sneak in and climb up the ladder so I could travel along the spine of every book and gather up a ball of dust which I would blow over the edge of the platform and down into the rest of the room.

"If you would like to clean I can fetch you the duster," scolded Hannibal when a piece of dust once floated down in front of him.

"No!" I squeaked, hurrying along the wall away from him and finding new books to trace.

One day, Will returned from work with a dog and we spent (what felt like hours) just playing together with him. He was a large, black, shaggy dog belonging to one of Will's colleagues at the university where he lectured, with the unusual name of Padfoot.

"Because he is light on his paws?" Abigail questioned, keeping her distance. Hannibal too did not get too close to Padfoot in the few days we looked after him - unlike me and Will, he found the smell and licking discomforting. We, on the other hand, couldn't get enough of the dog's company and were desperately sad to see him go.

"Couldn't we get a dog?" I asked Will when Padfoot left.

"I would," he responded, "but Hannibal could not bear it and it is, after all, his house."

"It's your house too." I reasoned.

"Yes," he coughed, "but Hannibal is the one in charge of it. He's the 'head of the table', so to speak. I wouldn't want to upset him. This house is his pride and joy."

"You're my 'pride and joy'," added Hannibal in an attempted mimic of Will's voice, catching onto our conversation when he had arrived in the hallway. Will gave him a bemused smile which Hannibal clearly found humour in as he walked past, kissing Will on the cheek and ruffling my hair. I looked up at Will and he, upon noticing my attention, blushed and held a hand to his head.

"You love Hannibal." I told him. He made some broken, agreeing noises and nodded jerkily. "And Hannibal loves you?" A hummed response came from the man in question who walked past us again, now wearing a scarf and coat.

"Going somewhere?" Will commented.

"Getting us some tea," Hannibal replied happily. Will's smile faded slightly.

"Stay safe."

"Always. Don't worry elskede; I'll be back before Harry's finished his schoolwork."

"I'm not very quick. You could be ages." I warned.

"Not if I help you again," reminds Will, nudging my arm playfully. With a wave of his hand, Hannibal left.

"Come, I believe it is time for you to do some spelling." I groaned and dragged my feet but followed Will into the dining room. It was a formal space designated only for evening meals, dinner parties or my schoolwork. I would rather work at the table in the kitchen but Will persuaded me I would just get distracted by the food like I did when I first tried to work in there.

As Will spent time with Abigail, helping her with a Psychology essay, I sat alone writing out complicated words again and again until they were spelt correctly.

'Manoova, manover, manovre, maneuvre, manoeuvre.'

"Perfect," I whispered with a grin. "Now..."

'Restrant, restaraunt, restraunt, restarant, restraunt, restaurant, restrurant.'

"Ah!" I cried, slamming the pen down and knocking my head to the table. "It's toooooo hard." I moaned, pushing my hands against the table. Simultaneously, my pen flew across the room and onto the floor. However I was sure I hadn't touched it - it was like it had moved by magic.

"Getting better?" asked Will, poking his head round the door.

"No," I groaned, returning to the paper with my pen and throwing myself into my seat.

"You will do," he told me, "certainly tonight, as you're working until Hannibal gets back."

"That's not fair!" I cried but he had already gone. To my relief, Hannibal soon returned.

"Det er bemærkelsesværdigt nemt at slippe af sted med mord." he told me proudly with a kiss on my forehead, as if I could understand what he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> "Det er bemærkelsesværdigt nemt at slippe af sted med mord" - It is remarkably easy to get away with murder.


	5. Four Bodies in the Basement

The following day found Will leaving early to work and me with little to do. Although Hannibal and Abigail were at home, with Abigail on a morning off from college, I could not find them so resolved to entertain myself. First was some drawing, and then my toy soldiers, and afterwards I made myself a rich tea biscuit covered in golden syrup. However the syrup drizzled everywhere, getting loopy syrup lines on my top, so afterwards I went to walk to my room to change, so Hannibal wouldn't be cross when he left his office to have lunch with me.

"I can't." Muffled words from behind a door at the edge of the hallway. Oddly, I didn't recognise it. I had been in the house a few weeks and yet had never noticed this door. I found it to be unlocked and, though stiff, managed to pull it open. This revealed a staircase that lead downwards and disappeared beneath shadows that faded into darkness.

"Hello?" I called. The only response was a dull echo. With a little trepidation, I began the descent. Soon I could not see each step and so relied upon feeling my way down. At the bottom I came to a door. As it opened, the entrance to a basement came to light from a dim glow deeper in the room. Shelves of jars and liquids lined the walls, followed by suits, knives and cleaning equipment. It was a display like that out of a film - something I could not of imagined in a real home... It was now that the villain in the horror movie would jump out. Despite this, I walked further into the room to find bodies previously obscured. Two were the bodies of Hannibal and Abigail, dressed in plastic and hands dripping with blood. However there was another body. A shirtless man lying flat on his back, a deep cut travelling down the top of his chest.

"Harry." greeted Hannibal sternly.

"What are you doing?" I asked slowly, not looking away from the bloody body. He was stood beside Abigail at the counter and I had clearly walked into a conversation.

"Teaching," Hannibal answered.

"Maybe I don't want to learn," Abigail mumbled spitefully, avoiding looking at Hannibal. He stood still watching her - I could tell he was angry from what she'd said.

"Why not?" I wondered.

"I- It's- All over again..." she stuttered, fearfully glancing to Hannibal. In that moment she reminded me of an actor at an audition. She wore the costume - old clothing, plastic apron - but it was evident she could not play the part.

"Garrett Jacob Hobbs-" Hannibal started, almost bored.

"Is dead." Abigail interrupted.

"My dad's dead too." I reassured her. She sighed heavily and placed the knife down on the table besides the body.

"I can't. Do. It." Each word grew quieter until the last was barely a whisper. Her breath caught on that one though, when she met Hannibal's eyes.

"I'm disappointed." She braced her jaw at his words. "I'd hoped for so much more, little one." A choked noise escaped her. His hand drifted up to her cheek to leave a smudge of blood down to her chin. She flinched away at the action and, in doing so, spotted me. Her change in demeanour caused Hannibal to turn too.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, looking down. "I don't know what happened, I just..." That was not true though. Every moment I had been fully aware. I had stepped forwards, taken a knife from the counter and eased it into the slit in the body. I'd peeled the skin back to see the collection this owner possessed. I had felt compelled to touch the body and open it up for myself. Truthfully, I did so to check if my memory of the Dursleys was true. Clarification of what I'd seen that night clarified that I had done it. Forgetting guilt and just looking objectively I was able to accept it: I'd killed them, I'd cut them up and I had taken a bite. Actions of a wild animal. However, there was nothing wild about Hannibal.

He immediately stepped to me and wrapped his hands round mine.

"Like this," he instructed, guiding the knife in my hands down to the man's navel, his words dragging in tune with our movement. He was focused - more than I had ever seen him - and pouring everything into the action we were performing.

Suddenly it started to feel wrong. I remembered myself, as it were, and reconsidered what I was doing. How I was hurting somebody.  
 _I could see the blood on my hands._  
It gulped from the body onto me, enveloping our palms and fingers and wrists.  
 _I could see it with clarity._  
Fresh with an aroma of iron lingering in the air. Hannibal inhaled the scent deeply, and then turned and did the same to me as he cradled his head in the crook of my shoulder whilst cutting.

"We'll use every part of her," Abigail regailed from behind us in an angry, mocking tone.

"Him." I corrected, watching Hannibal's concentration as he guided me. I looked back down at the body we were cutting through but it was no longer the stranger. It was Vernon lying there, staring at me with vacant eyes.  
 _"Come, boy, put your back into it." "Honestly, an animal would do a better job at this."_  
Then I blinked and it became Petunia.  
 _"A freak like his mother." "How could I ever love something like you?"_  
When I blinked again Hannibal had stepped back from me. I looked down and saw organs cut from the body and organised on the work surface. Abigail was gone, leaving me in the company of the corpse and Hannibal.

I was confused. Dreadfully lost within myself, unaware of what was truly happening and yet so aware it overwhelmed me. My stained hands were evidence of my crime.  
 _The crimson colour was even there when I closed my eyes._

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Hannibal reassured me as he packaged up pieces of the body.

"I've done something horrible. It's ugly-"

"It's art." Hannibal interrupted. "There's an art to teaching, an art to cooking, and so an art to this too."

"But I've killed someone - how can that be art?" I asked.

"You have killed nobody. He was dead already. You simply gave worth to his death. This body is empty, Harry. There's nothing wrong with taking parts that would otherwise go to waste."

"I killed Vernon and Petunia though, didn't I?"

"Did you mean to?" he asked.

"I... I don't know. Maybe?" I revealed. "I didn't like them, and I didn't want to live with them. I hated them."

"Why did you hate them?" he questioned, though I felt he already knew the answer to my question.

"Well, because they hated me. They loved Dudley and hated me. It wasn't fair."

"So your actions were reasoned. People can sympathise with why you did it, Harry." I shrugged numbly, my mind getting jumbled with too many thoughts.

"Come, lets go upstairs and have some lunch," he instructed, guiding me to the sink to wash my hands. Looking down, I saw my top was a mixture of syrup and blood. Much to Hannibal's amusement, I did not think this a tasty combination.  
 _He helped me onto the counter so I could wash my hands._  
Hannibal stood watching me wash the blood down the drain. His eyes were fixed on the swirling river of it, dancing and twirling its way down into the pipes.

"I'm proud of you Harry," he confided, "To have helped me; to have done what Abigail could not. Though Will must not know. You will not tell him."

"Why not?" I asked. If he was proud, surely Will would be too?

"Sometimes there are special moments that only two people should share. This is one of them." I licked my lip and looked up at him. He smiled softly but wore the same dark expression in his eyes as when he was helping me earlier. I tried to tell what it was.

"This is all I've ever wanted. To share it with you is a great thing." He said, watching me closely and holding my shoulders heavily. I think then I began to understand what it was for him to love, and maybe even felt that love a little. In the way his eyes darkened as we carried out our task, and the meticulous detail he took in dissecting every part of the body. He seemed to **breathe** differently when he was holding me, holding the knife. This love was different to his love for Will or for Abigail. It was something I could glimpse within him, and something very _very_ real.


	6. Sofas and Secrets

"Jack wants me to take a case," Will told Hannibal as he placed two mugs of coffee on the tea table and joined him on the sofa.

"What did you tell him?" Hannibal asked.

"I'm not going back," Will muttered, scratching his neck. "Not for any case, however interesting it may be." Hannibal looked to him and Will recognised he was asking what it was.

"A flash of green light then four people dead. No sign of how they died, though."

"You're tempted?"

"Just wish they'd stop sending cases to me... They're hard to ignore." Hannibal frowned and Will smirked at his disappointment.

"Of course you want me to take it," Will continued, resting against Hannibal and tilting his head backwards to see his husband upside down.

"You have a rare gift - one treasured by the FBI. It could be therapeutic to return to your old position; they would certainly be glad to have you again."

"You make it sound as if I am the head of the hive. A queen bee with a swarm of dependent workers."

"A little less promiscuous though." Will raised his eyebrows at Hannibal's comment.

"Overt flirtation Hannibal, my, you must be drunk or drowsy."

"When I succumb to tiredness you will know. For now, I am perfectly alert." At this he glanced quickly at me. Of course he knew I'd been watching them.

"Aware of this then?" Will asked, kissing Hannibal's collar and neck clumsily.

"I am," Hannibal murmured, "And I'm sure Harry is too." Will froze and turned around to see me perched behind the arm of the other sofa.

"I did not see you at all," he told me in surprise, shuffling himself round so he still leant against Hannibal but was facing me.

"The art of disguise; Hiding in plain sight." commented Hannibal as I moved to sit on the chair.

"I'm not trying to hide from you though," I promised with wide eyes.

"Never assumed it to be the case," Will informed me.

"Who is Jack?" I asked slowly. Will hummed before responding as he composed what to say in his mind.

"Jack Crawford is the head of the Behavioural Sciences unit at my University. He and I were colleagues when I used to work with the FBI."

"And he wants you to come back?"

"Precisely."

"Why don't you?"

"I got ill before. It was stressful work. That was how I met Hannibal: he was my psychiatrist."

"I helped Will deal with the stress," he told me, "like I do for you and Abigail."

"Why were you stressed?"

"I created profiles of murders," Will answered carefully, "to help catch them. Though what I saw - the crime scenes, the cases - it got to me."

"How do you create a profile?"

"I... unfold the crime scene - like the petals of the flower - revealing a nectar within. A nectar of desires and motivation and intent."

"So... If I saw a body," I proposed, "how would I create a profile, to check who killed it?"

"That is a skill I will not and do not need to teach you." Will spoke firmly.

"If you're referring to your Aunt and Uncle," Hannibal assumed, "then there is no need for such a skill. One may simply look at the evidence on your hands and know who killed them."

"Yes," I replied with a hint of frustration, "but what about a different body?"

"One doesn't often stumble across a body, Harry. I would not worry about it," answered Will.

"I do," I urged. I needed to know, so I could check who killed the man downstairs. Was he already dead, or did Hannibal and Abigail kill him?

"When?" coughed Will.

"Yesterday, downstairs, with Hannibal." Will turned jarringly to face his husband.

"Did you do something?" he inquired innocently.

"Besides helping Abigail with her coursework, I spent the day with patients or working on my sketches."

"The declaration hasn't come from nowhere though." Will responded, looking across the room in thought.

"Regretfully, I spent little time with Harry yesterday. This is likely to be jealousy, seeking attention and pulling on his experiences at the Dursley's to do so. Their murder was the most attention he'd received in years."

"I'm not talking about them," I scolded, "I'm talking about here. Downstairs, in the room with the metal table and the tap and the fridge."

Will's throat tightened, teeth clicked and jaw clenched. He seemed to go rigid. "You did nothing?" he asked Hannibal darkly, eyebrows raised. "And yet Harry gives an account of the room people do not realise exists. Occam's razor provides me a clear answer."

"I did not do what you suppose-"

"Your pupils are dilated."

"William, I promise you I would never do that with Harry."

"You're glancing to the right."

"Will, why would I lie to you?"

"Mm, why would you?" They both sat silently staring at one another. I did not realise the significance of that - of eye contact.

"Maybe," Will began, "one attempt at creation is not enough. You desire to create another in your image." When Hannibal did not respond Will turned to me.

"What did you do downstairs, Harry?"

"I..." I looked to Hannibal for assistance but his expression remained clear. "I cut the man. He was already dead... I don't know how he died; I can't profile."

"What do you mean cut the man?" Will asked with a voice shaking a little from the heat of his question.

"Cut into him, with a knife. Took him apart. His heart, his lungs." I answered quietly. Will's lips were pursed and eyes burning. "I'm sorry..." I began to cry. This was all my fault. I shouldn't have told Will - Hannibal said that - but I had, and I'd ruined everything. Both men observed me but neither spoke. Wiping my cheeks, I stood and walked from the room, a second apology balanced on my lips. Once I was out I ran upstairs to my room and slammed the door shut. Shadows from the evening light outside were spinning across the walls. Instead of climbing into bed, I went to my wardrobe and curled on the floor beneath my clothes, on top of a pile of blankets. With the wardrobe door shut, I tried to block out the raised voices downstairs by imagining I was a kitten hiding from a storm. However each feigned purr shook in tune with my body. I couldn't ignore the argument, despite my attempts. So, when the front door slammed shut and a car revved outside, I simply curled tighter and tighter. Burying myself within blankets and layers of my own skin.


	7. The Truth in Conversation

Hannibal carried me downstairs and placed me on the sofa, covered with one of the blankets. A fair amount of time had passed - possibly a few hours - and his actions made me realise how cold I had been in my cupboard. A chill not from a draught, but from an the isolation that made me feel as if I had returned to the Dursley's. Hannibal sat beside me and pulled me to him, stroking my hair.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"You are not at fault," he murmured.

"I am. I ruined our special moment; I told Will. Now he is cross with me, and you are too."

"Anger is not what I feel towards you - else would we be sat like this?" I shook my head. Abigail walked in to listen, sitting in the armchair beside us. "Will is upset but he will return. He cares too much to leave us."

"He cares about me?"

"You are his son, and Abigail his daughter." He looked up to her a moment. "A family of strays - those once lost, but brought to him. There is a beauty in the collection." I snuggled myself against him a little more. A few minutes passed, Hannibal remaining stroking my hair and Abigail watching us.

"How did you get this scar?" he asked, inspecting the ragged lightning bolt on my forehead.

"From the car crash, when my parents died."

"It doesn't look like a scar from a car crash," Abigail commented. I shrugged, bemused by the idea it could be anything but. Having had it as long as I could remember, I never questioned what had been told me about it.

"When did you parents pass away, Harry?" Hannibal asked.

"I was just over a year old - 15 months I think. It was a long while ago." Hannibal hummed thoughtfully and rested his chin on my head.

"Did you care for the Dursley's?"

"Well..." I stumbled, trying to decide on how I felt. "I guess. I mean, I'd been with them since I was a baby. Vernon and Petunia, though not my parents, did provide me a bed to sleep in and food to eat. They were all I had... But now I have you and I like you much better."

"Why is that?"

"You and Will aren't angry at me when bad things happen: you understand. You're like the families I would read about in books, or people at school would talk about. It's nice to actually have a dad of my own - two dads! Plus, my new bed is much warmer than my old one."

"You've only lived here a few weeks though," mumbled Abigail, "they're not your dads... You're not their son, nor my brother. Not yet." I furrowed my eyebrows.

"You're a son to me, Harry, and I know to Will."

"But..."

"I know what Abigail said, and there is truth to it. She has lived with us far longer than you," he told me, before continuing to Abigail: "Yet you know this does not change anything. You are our daughter - our only daughter."

"That took time. It took me a long while to accept you, yet Harry does it in a matter of days. How can that be?" she questioned defiantly.

"During crucial periods of his development, Harry was in the care of neglectful adults. This neglect affected his attachments and hence his understanding of relationships. It is not his fault, and simply gives us all the more reason to show him love now." I bit my lip as I thought about what he'd said. It was weird to consider my life from an external perspective. To think about how my time at the Dursley's had shaped me, and how experiences in my new home would do the same.

"Hannibal?" An unknown female voice called from the hallway. The room froze before Hannibal commanded "stay here." He carefully removed his hands from my hair and my body from his side so he could stride from the room to greet the stranger. The lights were flicked off.

"Alana," Hannibal welcomed as he turned the corner. Not a stranger to him then. "And Will."

"I seem to have wandered," Will informed through gritted teeth. I looked to Abigail with a smile, glad Will had returned, but she ignored me and remained staring with icy attention at the open door.

"Will told me you had a disagreement," Alana detailed, "and I just wanted to make sure you're both alright."

"I appreciate the concern," Hannibal told her politely.

"Nothing more than a disagreement, Alana." reassured Will.

"Severe enough to drive you out of the house, even in miserable weather like this." Alana reminded. I looked to the living room window but it was too dark to truly see if there was rain.

"Did-"

"Sh!" Abigail hushed me sharply. I remembered then that I - and presumably Abigail - were secrets. Therefore, Alana didn't realise we were here. When we heard the adults had moved into the kitchen, I followed Abigail, who crept into the hallway. Dim voices were audible behind a partially closed door, and I walked past Abigail so I could hear them better. She glared at me for getting closer, but I focused instead on what was being said.

"No... Not since I'd left the job." reflected Will.

"Not even nightmares?" Alana asked.

"Oh, no, I still have nightmares. But now there's someone there when I wake up."

"I accompany you Will, regardless of whether it is light or dark."

"I'm not naive enough to assume you're just talking about the time of day." Alana commented. "Though, for now, that is beside the point. Instead, I wish to ask as to the nature of your argument. Not as an invasion of privacy, but on a professional level. The discussion can aid in its resolution." There was a momentary pause. You could almost hear the men composing what they would say.

"It was like... I held two glasses filled with wine. Hannibal took one and then tried to take the other, spilling some in the process."

Hannibal quickly replied: "I would argue that you held two glasses of water, and when in my hands they turned to wine. Aromatic, fresh and alive."

"Bitter and poisonous." Will returned. "Spoilt."

"Taste is a matter of perspective," suggested Alana, "as are many things: love, cruelty or freedom."

"I am no stranger to perspective," Will reminded her.

"What do you see?" inquired Hannibal.

"In you? In your actions? I see selfishness. Gluttony and hedonism with little care for the consequences."

"You consider me to of sinned?"

"You're too sanctimonious to sin. Any transgression is displaced within your psyche." Will took a breath. "It was the ignorance towards me. Towards what I want for us."

"How does that make you feel?" Hannibal asked.

"An ironic question."

"Though a necessary one," encouraged Alana. Reluctantly, Will continued-

"Alone. It is as if I am behind a wall of water, blindly grasping at figurative shadows on the other side. I'm balanced on a layer of water droplets at the edge of a waterfall, and a heavy hand will smash them and bring me to fall with it. Cascading down like a helpless salmon that then smashes on the rocks below."

"You're at home in that environment," whispered Hannibal, the words hissing gently at the edges.

"Not when that area of comfort and peace becomes fragile. Not when it is dashed to pieces."

"Whatever happened has disrupted your sense of home, Will." insisted Alana. "You must remedy that."

"I cannot reason with someone who refuses to listen."

Hannibal interrupted: "I always listen-"

"-refuses to change. Not even for me."

"When you first moved in together, I recall you struggling with the same sort of problems. How did you solve things then?"

"Me." whispered Abigail. I looked up and watched her turn from the door and leave.

"Abigail." She didn't hear me. "Abigail." Despite the dangerously high volume, she still showed no recognition of my attempts. Now I was alone at the door, Abigail choosing to wait in the hallway upstairs instead. I could just about see her through the banisters.

"Should I-" I began but she hushed me again. Will had just said he felt alone and now I shared that. The wood of the door frame held me up and I gripped it with desperate fingernails. I felt vulnerable, yet I did not move. I remained watching the warm light through the crack of the door, letting their conversation slip and fade in my attentions.

"Harry. Harry!" were the harsh, whispered words I heard before the door in front of me swung open. In that moment Alana moved too, her body falling to the floor in front of me.


	8. Hidden and Revealed

"You said they were hidden."

"I did not obscure them by removing their volition." Hannibal replied from where he stood a step too close to Alana.

"Well maybe you should've!" The volume of Will's voice then subsided. "I... I told you, they're not safe."

"Their best interests are paramount in every decision made."

"No, no, not all." Harsh shapes flickered about Will's face. "You knew they were there and you did nothing to stop her," stuttered Will, "you let Alana walk into our hands."

"If you desired her ignorance, you shouldn't of-"

"I didn't realise I was with her until we were stood in the hallway. I remember... nothing, Hannibal." There was a pause.

"What are we going to do?" Abigail whispered from beside me, eyes wide and breaths shallow. "People will find out... She'll wake up and remember."

"Hiding is what we do best," Will admitted.

"I'm good at hiding too," I added. Will provided me a crooked smile.

"Yes," he reassured, "you clearly take after us."

"You're shaking." Abigail observed. She looked up to Hannibal. "He's shaking."

"I'm- fine." stumbled Will, rubbing his forehead and taking an unsteady step forwards. The movement caused him to lose his balance but he was quickly caught.

"You need to sit down." Hannibal informed him, eyes quickly glancing over his form as if to check for injury. Will leant for a moment against Hannibal's hold but abruptly returned to his own stance.

"Your concern is misguided; it is Alana who has just been knocked unconscious." Reluctantly, Hannibal agreed-

"I shall check on her." Careful that Will was stable, Hannibal lowered himself to my height and leant over to hold Alana's head in his hands, inspecting her eyes. A bright light was quickly flashed in each one.

"Is she concussed?" Abigail questioned.

"She has suffered a blow to the head but I trust she will be fine; suffering a headache, at most."

"To what degree of certainty?" Will questioned.

"Her pupils are responding well to light, and the positioning of the knock on her head should aid her chances."

"A thoughtful unconsciousness," Will muttered, "with typical surgical precision. _For I know the plans I have for you_." Hannibal did not reply to Will's cynicism but, instead, spoke to us.

"I believe it to be a near unanimous decision that, in light of our compromising position, we must create a realistic facade for Alana."

"How will that work? She'll remember me from the case."

"You shall be hidden Abigail, and Harry can be my nephew."

"But he looks nothing like you!" answered Abigail.

"Time to play dress up." suggested Will bitterly.

"Should I dye my hair grey, like yours?" I asked Hannibal.

"No," he replied stoutly, though Will seemed to find slight humour in the question.

When I was wearing a different outfit and my hair was artfully styled to hide the possibly-recognisable scar, I looked quite unlike myself. Alana's body was escorted to the sofa and, with assurance from Hannibal that she would not wake for a few more hours, Will and Hannibal returned to their business: Will preparing a lesson on the sofa beside her, and Hannibal sorting paperwork in his office.

"They're not your dads," muttered Abigail. I barely heard her over the sound of the kettle bubbling.

"They didn't make me... But they're still my dads." Abigail shook her head. I continued in earnest: "Anyway, if they're not mine, then they can't be yours."

"You're wrong," Abigail retaliated, "you don't understand."

"I don't understand why you're cross." I answered, looking at her knuckles which had turned white from where she gripped the mug.

"You don't understand anything: You're just a kid." When the kettle switch clicked to mark itself finished, she grabbed it from the base and the poured the steaming water into her mug.

"Careful!" I warned, but in her frustration she accidentally let the water spill over onto the side and narrowly missed it stream to the floor as she jumped back. I heard her growl an expletive under her breath.

"Get the kitchen roll Harry," she urged quickly. I looked around but couldn't see any. "Fine, I'll get it myself." she continued, knocking my shoulder as she walked by.

"Ow!" I cried as I stumbled forwards, my hand falling to the hot puddle of water on the counter. Abigail turned sharply but the initial sympathy was quickly hidden beneath her frustration.

"You idiot," she growled, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me to the sink to run my hand under the cold water.

"I didn't mean to." I whined, trying not to cry.

"Like how you didn't mean to dissect the man," she mocked, "or stupidly stood too close to the door and let Alana find you."

"That wasn't my fault," I hissed, knocking her hands away with a jostle of my arms and splashing her with the cold water.

In her expression, contempt was not hidden. Nor was anger, grief, loneliness or doubt. Each emotion was displayed like distinct colours on an untampered pallet. Then they merged to form a murky brown of disgust.

"It's all your fault," she spat. "All the arguments and tension. Dad's breakdown. All because you're here."

"You're mean," I yelled. "You're horrible, like Dudley, and I hate you!" I ran forwards and clawed at her, but she shoved me away.

"Everything has changed," she breathed heavily. "From what it was... But you don't even realise because you weren't there." Despite the impulse to hit her, I stood rigid and restrained myself to listen. "Will hasn't always lived here. It took a long time. It look a long time for me too, but when that was done we made three. A golden, if a little broken, trio. Hidden perfectly from the police for over 2 years now. But, in a mere few weeks, you shatter that."

"It's not my fault," I cried, stepping towards her.

"It is!" she yelled, shoving me down. I smacked against the tiled floor.

"I hate you," I sobbed. "You're horrible. I wish you were dead." She tilted her head sideways and gazed at me.

"I should be. My fathers killed me in the kitchen... And yet, here I am." I squinted, struggling to focus on her and rubbing my sleeve on my glasses.

"I hate you!" I screamed, "hate, hate, hate, hate you!"

"What is going on?" yelled Will, rounding the corner into the kitchen. He was faced with a blur of white and the scream of china shattering. I sat in the midst of the pottery snow storm, and it shook about me as I cried. I could not see Abigail behind the ceramic cloud, but I heard her gasping. I heard her crying out in horror, and I heard the absence of crying when the cloud condensed.


	9. Ends and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this whilst listening to:  
> Everything that Breathes - Greg Haines  
> Lord Please Save Me (Instrumental) - The Brilliance  
> No wonder it is sad. I'm sorry... But not. This was always going to happen. Let's raise a glass to tearful finales.

My hand singed, but I did not see the red flaky skin. I saw a pair of liquid gloves wrapping around them, formed out of viscous, warm blood. On the floor across the room lay Abigail. Each white shard piercing her glistened against the crimson stains seeping from their incision.

_A jagged interpretation of the wound man. A suitable, naive tribute._

Will ran over as soon as the shards were moving, but when he reached her he simply arrived at a body. She was absent from her frame, a carriage empty of its passenger. Will crumpled down to his daughter's side and crouched tightly over her, unable to hold her from all the white daggers.

"My girl... My Abigail," he stuttered. Falling apart over the one who was broken. There was a deep gurgling sound, like he was drowning within himself.

* * *

 

Sometimes things seem to crack. When reality no longer seems real and you're clutching at the surface of something bare and naked and nothing. Will was tormented by the barriers between fiction and reality. Sometimes nothing felt real and sometimes everything did. He felt too much. He felt everything too much. So when grief hit him he crumbled again. He'd lost a daughter to his son, and his husband to the temptations the man could not resist. Will was gone... Lost in time. Not like before though; This was different, because this time he felt every single second pass him by but he was frozen. When Harry ran from the room he didn't watch him go. When Hannibal took Abigail's body he didn't stir, but remained staring at the place where she had last been.

There was something broken in the darting glimpses Hannibal and Will gave one another across an over-stewed teapot that was never poured. Normally they would've understood each other: seen the workings of the mind opposite and known how they felt. It was the beauty of their marriage - an infallible connection. Yet now they sat at the doorstep of the mind of the other and did not enter. Will was blank, drained, and had the look of a man who was feeling so much he'd gone numb. Hannibal, on the other hand, seemed to be staring into the fire, and a dark light burned in his eyes. He was hurt - it was clearly expressed - but for him the barriers between pain and pleasure were permeable, leaving him hungry. That was no surprise.

When he rose to go downstairs, a clear task in mind, Will rose with him.

"Don't go." he pleaded quietly, eyes fixed on the table. Hannibal watched the way Will slowly looked up at him, and how he flinched when they truly looked into one another again.

"You can't," he whispered. Hannibal walked round to Will, intent on distracting him so he could leave. Upon standing beside him though Will reached for the man and tenderly placed a hand on his cheek.

"Please," he whispered, "Don't do that to our daughter." Hannibal flinched, his cheeks rising to Will's hands. Will rubbed him thumb below Hannibal's cheekbone.

"I can't be that for you," Hannibal told him. He reached to remove Will's hand but instead found Will gripping his arm in that attempt and holding it between them as they stood against each other.

"You can't or you won't?" he asked calmly, voice breaking slightly on the last word. The sound of movement in the living room prevented a response.

"Hello?" called a croaky voice. With his equally red eyes and hands, Will was in no fit state to speak with her.

"Tidy yourself up. Check on Harry. Come down, if you can." Hannibal instructed. Will nodded and rushed upstairs whilst Hannibal hurried to meet Alana, concerned she may venture into the rest of the house.

* * *

 

Will did not look steady. His hands were cold as he pulled me from the wardrobe and over to the bed.

"There's something wrong with me." I told him. I showed him my hands and asked: "Can you feel the buzz? It's like electricity running through me."

"Adrenaline," Will informed, touching the palm gently before quickly removing his hand. I spotted a lone tear on his cheek.

"Is she dead?" Will blinked heavily. I didn't need him to tell me.

"I... I feel like I'm not feeling right. I felt bad, scared, but now I don't. I just, don't, feel, don't-"

"It's alright," interrupted Will. My hand rose, held by his, and he kissed it gently. "It can be hard, for you. It's hard for Hannibal sometimes too, but you'll learn and grow to understand what emotions you might have."

"I want to feel them now," I answered with light confusion.

"That's not how it works... But once Alana is gone, we can talk and help you know what to do." His words were wobbling.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"I will be," he replied, wrapping an arm round me and resting his chin on my head. I could feel his heartbeat in my ear, rapid and heavy, and his little jolts of movement. I could hear his sniffs, and how he barely seemed to be breathing. "We will be."

"I love you Dad," I whispered. He nodded with a tearful exhale.

"I'll try," he replied.

* * *

 

_Bones, sinking like stones, all that we've fought for._   
_Homes, places we've grown, all of us are done for._   
_We live in a beautiful world._   
_Yeah we do, yeah we do._   
_We live in a beautiful world._

_Don't Panic - Coldplay_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to anyone who read the whole story. It fills me with fuzzy warmth to know you may've read this and enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.  
> If you want to, leave a comment or check out my other stories. If not, enjoy the rest of your day/night, and your further fictional adventures!  
> \- TeaWithMeAtThree


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